


do I despise these perfect lies?

by rachtana



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Multi, Pezberry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-14 02:02:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachtana/pseuds/rachtana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sexuality isn't always black and white.  Rachel finds out the hard way.  A pezberry fanfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue; an exploration

“Fuck it, Rach,” he groans, grinding his erection against her core, sliding his right hand up to caress her bare breast. She kisses him, softly, running her hand over his bare chest and sighing against his lips. “Let me...let me...” Finn sits up and quickly unzips his jeans and tosses them across the room, and then hovers over his girlfriend, trying desperately to unclasp her bra. 

“Finn,” she mumbles, pushing against him, “I...I don’t think I want to do this today.” Her voice is soft, and her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Grabbing her shirt, she covers herself up a little, and then tries to explain. “I just...my dads...they’ll be home soon, and I just...don’t...” she chokes out. 

“Rach,” Finn whispers, leaning in close to her. “You don’t have to explain.” He kisses the top of her forehead. “We can just lay here and cuddle.” She nods, but she can hear the hurt in his voice and can feel the desire pulsing through him. She dresses herself, a tear sliding down her face, but she doesn’t let him see. Instead, she wipes it away and sits back down on the bed while Finn finishes pulling his pants on. 

“Come on,” he says, laying down, “there’s a spot on my chest that I think is just the perfect pillow for you.” She smiles slightly and rests her head on him, snuggling up to his body. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, making circles on his chest with her index finger. 

“What’s wrong?” he whispers in her ear, nuzzling his face in her hair. She shakes her head, but he sighs. “Rach, I know you better than that.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” she mutters. “I feel guilty, that’s all.” It’s the truth, but only in part. Lost in thought, Rachel thinks about the last time she and Finn had sex. It was sticky; Finn was clumsy and she was stiff and for her, there was no sort of pleasure. It was over within minutes, and while Finn apologized profusely, she was simply happy that it was over. 

_Sex shouldn’t be like this_ , she thinks. She’s seen romantic comedies, she’s seen Katherine Heigl and Jennifer Aniston “do it” with their co-stars on screen, and she doesn’t get it. Maybe there’s something wrong with her. Maybe she was born to hate sex. 

“Are you sure that’s all?” Finn interrupts her train of thought, and she nods against his chest. 

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I’m just not in the mood.” A pit forms in her stomach, because she _does_ feel guilty. She at least needs to come up with a better excuse. 

She wants to like it, she does. She loves him, or at least, she thinks she loves him. She manages to convince herself that that’s enough, that sex is only secondary to love, and she calms down, if only slightly. She tries to focus on her breathing, and on Finn’s heartbeat, instead of her thoughts. They’re just too much to handle. 

After Shelby entered her life, and then subsequently left it with little warning, her therapist told her, “You can’t change other people. You can only change yourself.” She’s not sure why the thought pops into her mind, but it does, and it hangs heavy in her head. 

“I love you,” Finn mumbles, pulling her closer. She wraps her leg around his and looks up at him, opening her tired eyes, and smiles the best she can.

+

“I don’t know what it is,” she tells Kurt a few days later at his locker. “It’s just...I mean, you and Blaine...you had sex...do you _like_ it?” Her face is red, and she’s whispering so that no one around her can hear her.

“Well, yes, if you must know,” Kurt says, pulling his history textbook from his bag. “I mean, isn’t that the point?” She nods, then sighs. “Finn probably doesn’t know what he’s doing; I bet you he thinks the clitoris is a type of butterfly.” 

“You say that as if you could pinpoint it yourself,” Rachel says with a small smirk. 

“I luckily never have to,” he says, pulling a piece of lint off of Rachel’s sweater. “And trust me, I’m thankful for that.” Rachel laughs. 

“Maybe I’m just a freak,” she says. “I don’t get it.” 

When she goes home that day, she shoos Finn home (“I have to practice my scales!”) and knows what she has to do. Researching on Google only made her realize that masturbation might be the key here; if she can get herself off, it’s Finn’s fumbling hands and swift performance that are the problem. 

She knows that at 17, she probably should have done this before, but she can barely look at herself naked in the mirror, let alone _touch herself_. But she figures she’ll take one for the team...what could be the harm in it?

She lights a candle and then strips in front of the mirror. She looks at herself, at her petite frame, her small breasts, at her thin waist. She takes a deep breath, and then lays down. With another inhale, she spreads her legs and cups her center nervously, feeling the warmth. She closes her eyes as she makes herself comfortable, and tries to imagine Finn. 

At first, it’s easy. She can picture his naked chest, she can imagine the feel of his hands on her cheeks as he kisses her, the feel of his denim jeans against her bare legs. She slides her hands up to her breasts and cups them. She pictures his cock, erect in his pants, pushing against her leg, like it does every time they make out. 

But then the scene gets too difficult to envision. Maybe because she doesn’t want to, but maybe because the experiences have been so uncomfortable, she can’t bear to replay her experiences in her head. She tries to imagine another couple, outside herself, having sex. She tweaks her nipples and thinks of (dare she admit it?) Quinn and Sam, before their horrible break-up. She’s always thought Sam was cute, in a boyish way, like Finn, and Quinn, well, she was beautiful, like Rachel always wished she was. She imagines him sucking on her nipple, pinching her own as her thoughts race. His hands running down her thin body, her back arching with delight. 

She imagines Quinn’s hair fanned out on the pillow, and before she realizes it, she’s imagining it’s _her_ hands on Quinn’s body, parting her legs and kissing her thighs. Rachel can feel the wetness pool between her legs, and she brings her hand down to rub her clit slowly. She pictures her mouth on Quinn’s clit, sucking lightly, and then running her tongue down her her slit. Rachel’s hand moves faster on her own clit as she imagines the situation in reverse, Quinn’s soft lips teasing her core, Quinn’s tongue teasing her clit...

And she lets go, riding the wave of her orgasm, and then limply lays in her bed, her breathing shallow. She puts her hand on her sweaty forehead, and then bites her bottom lip. She’s not sure where that came from, the image of Quinn going down on her (or the image of Quinn at all, really), and she certainly doesn’t know what it means. 

She loves Finn, right? 

She thinks of Quinn’s breasts again, and then groans. She hates everything Quinn stands for, she hates what she did to Finn, to Sam, to Noah, but Rachel can’t help but admit that she’s beautiful. 

She wonders if thinking that, if the scene she imagined in her head while touching herself, makes her a lesbian. Or at the very least, bisexual. With her two dads having raised her, sexuality was never an issue in their house; however, she always assumed that she was straight. She always had crushes on boys, didn’t she? 

What does all this mean? 

She sighs, still laying naked on her bed, and covers her face with her hands, trying to wrap her head around it all.


	2. part one; questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When did life become so confusing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely people. I've been working really hard on this fic; it's my first multi-chapter fic in a while, and I'm praying it's not completely awful. Enjoy! <3

She doesn’t know what to do, really. She stays with Finn, mostly because she knows that he loves her, and she loves him, or so she thinks. And if there’s one thing she’s learned from her fathers, sexuality is fluid and maybe her mastabatory experience was a fluke. It’s not like she wants a relationship with Quinn; in fact, with the abuse she’s faced in the past three and a half years from her, she’s doesn’t even want a _friendship_. Just because she’s _attracted_ to girls doesn’t mean she’s a lesbian, right? Just because she doesn’t like sex with Finn...it doesn’t make her gay. 

Google hasn’t been the best of help, really, but she learns that a lot of women don’t like sex, so she comes to the conclusion that it’s nothing. _Nothing_. (It would be really great, though, if she could stop thinking about how much she enjoyed her little fantasy.) 

When she sees Finn the next day, Rachel blushes, her face flush with embarrassment, and she pretends like nothing’s wrong. 

Nothing is.

+

Or so she tells herself. 

Three days later, she hangs out with Kurt in his room while Finn’s at football practice. It’s easy, light, and they flip through celebrity magazines, chatting away. 

“Why don’t they ever talk about Barbra in these things?” she asks with confusion. “She’s like the biggest star there is. I’m sure _everyone_ wants to know the personal details of her life! I mean, don’t you?” 

Kurt snorts. “Sure. Throw Patti LuPone in there and you’ve got one bestselling issue,” he mocks. She hits him with the magazine and lays down on his bed, her hands serenely clasped over her stomach. Kurt sits beside her, his legs crossed, looking at her suspiciously. 

“So, Rach, what’s up?” he mumbles, brushing her bangs out of her face. “You’ve been looking a little sad.” She sighs, and the room is quiet for a moment. Looking around at his Chanel gray walls, his perfectly color coordinated comforter and curtains, and it makes her wonder. 

“Kurt, have you ever found a girl attractive?” she asks, turning her head to look at him. Her hand reaches for his, and she intertwines their fingers. 

“Why?” he asks her with a suspicious look on his face. “For the record, Rachel, while I find you to be beautiful despite your gender, there is _no_ way we are having sex only to figure out if it’s Finn who can’t figure where to put his overly large gorilla hands. Number one, that would be cheating. And number two, my fingers were made to _pump_ , not _stroke_.” Kurt clears his throat, and while Rachel’s mouth hangs open, he continues. “And don’t try to ask Blaine, either, Rachel. You already scarred him with your experimentation once.”

A scoff flies from her mouth and she sits up, pulling her hand away from his and smacking him on his arm with the magazine again. “That’s _not_ where I was going with that!” she exclaims, her voice high and pitchy. Kurt shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips, and she giggles just a bit. 

“Then where were you headed with that, Dorothy?” Kurt asks. She chews on her bottom lip for a minute and then takes Kurt’s hands in hers and looks at them. She can’t help but notice how stubby and short her fingers are, how the nail polish on her right thumb is chipping a little. How Kurt’s hands are smooth and flawless, like fine china. She holds them gently, as if she doesn’t want to break them. 

“I just...I’m curious. I always assumed you just...always knew you liked boys, but I was just wondering if there was a period where you weren’t sure...or a period where you thought you liked girls...” Rachel’s voice is so low, so soft, that Kurt has to lean in to properly hear her. 

“Where’s this coming from, babe?” He squeezes her hands gently, and she closes her eyes. 

“Can you just answer the question for me, Kurt?” she whispers desperately. Kurt nods, even though she can’t see him. He takes a deep breath, one that calms both him _and_ Rachel.

“I think for me, it was never really a question. There was a time when I was five, when I announced to my mother that I was marrying a girl named Lacey Caldwell, but I actually had no interest in her...she had a twin brother, Anthony, and I wanted to get closer to him.” He laughs, and Rachel looks up at him with a small smile. “Don’t get me wrong. I denied it, not just to everyone in school, but to myself for the _longest_ time. I would see commercials with half naked men and I would nearly drool, and then beat myself up over it, telling myself that there was something wrong with me.” There’s a comfortable silence for a while, and then Kurt adds, “But I always knew.”

A tear streams down Rachel’s face and she tries to turn away quickly to cover it up, to wipe it away without Kurt seeing her, but it’s too late, he’s there wiping it away with his thumb first. She looks at him, her eyes wet with understanding, with grief, and before she can control herself, she’s jumping into his arms, wrapping her own around him tightly. It’s at least a good two minutes before she lets go of him and pulls away a little, but she stays close for comfort. 

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on, Rach?” Kurt asks again. “I won’t push it if you really don’t think you’re ready to talk about it, but...I think maybe you should, yeah?” He rubs her leg and then pulls on her braid gently, smiling at her sadly. 

“Maybe this is stupid, and I don’t want to undermine your sexual identity by even implying that my very limited sexual experience has clued me into something that’s completely and utterly--” 

“Just spit it out,” Kurt says, interrupting her, playfully rolling his eyes. “Whatever you say can’t possibly be as offensive as _half_ of the stuff that comes out of your mouth anyway.” Before she can defend herself, Kurt holds up a hand and says, “I love you, Babs, but you’ve got a bigger mouth than Sam sometimes. Now, talk.”

She groans, and then covers her face with her hands. She knows that it’s not going to be easy to ask the question that’s been on her mind for days now, but it’s been eating away at her. She thought she could pretend that everything was okay, that nothing was bothering her, but...

“Do you think it’s possible that I don’t enjoy intercourse with Finn because I’m a lesbian?” Her voice is muffled, but Kurt somehow hears her loud and clear. He raises an eyebrow at her, and while she’s not looking at him, she moans. 

“Stop, I can feel the judgement from here,” she says, uncovering her face and giving him a glare. “Three days after one tiny fantasy, and all I can think is, what if I’m a lesbian?” Rachel pulls a bit of fuzz off of Kurt’s shirt, and then looks at him. “I read online that girls can have fantasies about other women without actually being a lesbian,” she says, “but I don’t know...somehow, I just get this feeling in the pit of my stomach that it’s not just that. That it’s something more. That it’s something I’ve been missing all along. And that Finn’s inability to even...well, I won’t go there again, but I just...I don’t know anymore, Kurt. I really don’t.” He gives her a sympathetic look and wraps her in his arms again, while she cries, snot leaking from her nose, all over his Marc Jacobs button down. “Maybe I’ve just never come to terms with it...maybe it’s always been lingering...”

“It’s only been three days, right?” Kurt says after a while. “I think you’ve got to be a little less harsh on yourself. You don’t have to figure everything out right away.” He runs his fingers through her hair and he can feel her nod against him. 

“You must think I’m ridiculous,” she says, pulling away and looking at him, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater. “Three days and suddenly I think I’m fucking Ellen.” Kurt’s never heard her swear, but he can’t say he’s not impressed. 

“Badass looks good on you,” he says and she laughs. “But really, you only _wish_ you were fucking Ellen.” She laughs and he smiles at her. “It’s really going to be okay,” he says seriously. 

“I know,” she says, a little nasally from crying. “I have two gay dads. If anything, I’m in the most supportive environment to come out in. I think they’d throw me a party, welcoming me to their not-so-secret club or something.” 

“But don’t rush things, okay? Remember, you’ve got time to figure this stuff out.” She nods.

“Yeah, no rush.”

“Now why don’t I drive us to that vegan whole foods store across the street from BreadstiX and buy us some fake ice cream and come back here and watch us some _Funny Girl_?”

+

There’s the fact that she’s still with Finn. She decides, without question, that she wants to be with him, at least until she knows how she feels for sure. Because, in all honesty, if she does turn out to be straight, or even bi, she’d like to have him by her side. He’s been sweet and kind, albeit a little slow at times--but she figures she can train him later on to get her off if it comes to that. (For right now, she pretends she has her period. It’s the longest fake period she’s ever had in her entire life, but Finn’s sadly clueless.) Does it make her a bad person, to keep him in her pocket like she is? But like Kurt said, three days of gazing at Quinn’s chest doesn’t make her a lesbian...it simply makes her _curious_.

She’d like to think that staying with Finn is more of a “planning ahead” type thing, rather than a “stringing him along” type thing, because it helps her feel less guilty about not breaking up with him. 

(The thing is, she still feels guilty that she even got off to Quinn’s image in the first place, on top of it all; but since the guilt seems to just be piling, she might as well throw another dirty sock into the hamper and stay with Finn. She _does_ really love him, though, and she doesn’t want to hurt him. But even so, part of her wonders if she’s just afraid to let go of the comfortable and stray into unfamiliar waters.) 

He asks her over and over again, “Is there something wrong?” Can he feel the anxiety coursing through her body when he kisses her? Or just how tense she gets when he places his hand on her thigh during Glee? 

(All of these thoughts just validate her feeling like a complete _bitch_ for not admitting to him her struggle. But she can’t. Not yet. Not when Kurt’s the only person in the world who even knows.)

“I’m fine, really,” she mumbles for the eighth time that day. “Don’t worry so much, okay?” She smiles up at him weakly, and then stands on her tiptoes to give him a small peck on the lips. She takes his hand and squeezes it, silently reassuring him that she’s okay, that they’re okay. If it happens to be a lie in the end, if they happen to be not so okay later, she’ll worry about it then. Right now, other things consume her mind. 

Like how she’s going to really figure things out. 

They walk into glee together, holding hands, and Rachel’s eyes flit to Quinn, and she can feel the heat rise to her cheeks as she lowers her head and stares at her feet. She doesn’t think her embarrassment over the situation will ever subside, but then again, she’s not Quinn’s biggest fan, so maybe it doesn’t matter. Finn sits down and pulls her into the seat next to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and she instinctively leans into him, despite the uneasy feeling in her stomach.

“I think it’s one of those weeks,” Mr. Schue says as he walks into the room, looking at the blank, unfeeling faces of the students before him. “I don’t think I’m really going to give you a theme this week...let’s just all pick a song that relates to what we’re going through. I know sometimes it can be a challenge to figure out exactly what you want to say, but I think it’ll get you out of this funk you all seem to be in.”

Rachel looks around the room; she spots Finn’s sad eyes, Kurt’s worried glances at her, Santana’s folded arms and angry stare, Brittany’s fidgeting fingers...and she realizes Mr. Schue is right. Something’s off with the entire club, not just her. Maybe this will help. She remembers their first year in glee club, when they had a similar assignment, and how much it helped some of the others figure out just where they were in their lives. What, with Kurt’s epic version of Rose’s Turn, and Finn’s serenade to her with the 80s classic Jesse’s Girl, they began to understand where they were in their lives. (Of course she lost her voice that week, but Finn’s friend Sean still taught her a valuable lesson.) 

“I think this is a superb idea, Mr. Schue,” she blurts out amidst the whispering of other club members. She jumps out of her seat and stands beside him. “I think you’re right; I think this is what we all really need right now. Some good old self-exploration.” Kurt raises his eyebrow at her knowingly, and she raises hers right back at him. “I applaud the idea, and remind everyone of how much we all learned two years ago, when we participated in a similar exercise.” Finn smiles at her, winking, and Rachel returns his gesture with a small grin.

+

When she sits in the stall of the bathroom the next day, minding her own business, taking a break from the lunch time cuddling Finn’s smothering her with, she hears the door barge open and two sets of footsteps storming in. 

“Brittany, I just...why are you doing this to me?” Santana’s voice echoes (the acoustics of bathrooms, of course, are astounding, Rachel knows). “I know we’re finally together, we’re finally out and proud, or whatever that stupid phrase is that all gay people use, and sure, I’ll kiss you in the hallway--but I’m never going to be _Artie_.” Rachel can hear who she assumes to be Santana inhale deeply. “I’m never going to be the girl who babies you; I’m going to be the girl who pushes you. Because I know you can be better. I know you’re smart.” 

Rachel thinks she can hear Brittany’s sniffling. 

“I’m not sure...I mean, all I wanted was--”

Santana cuts her off. “You’re not ten anymore,” she exclaims, her voice getting louder. “You’re 17, Britt! You can’t go around pretending a _cat_ can fucking smoke cigars or read your mind. You can’t ask me to come on _Fondue for Two_ to talk about Barbie and Ken and whether or not they’d survive a flash flood, because really, they’re _dolls_.” Rachel can hear the anger in her voice, but the sadness, too. Brittany’s crying loudly now, and Rachel can hear her whines, even though they’re muffled by what she guesses are her own hands. 

“I just...Britt, I want an adult relationship. I love you. But what are we doing?” Santana’s no longer yelling, but instead, mumbling, her voice wavering. 

“We’re two unicorns who love each other,” Brittany squeaks out. There’s a silence, and Rachel covers her mouth, hoping they won’t notice that she’s in the stall, listening to their conversation. 

“Yeah,” Santana says solemnly. “Okay.” There’s a certain sound of resignation in Santana’s voice, and Rachel can tell the argument is over, at least for the moment. She hears the door open and close, and she hesitantly opens the stall, breathing normally again. She’s just about to wash her hands in the sink when she notices that Santana’s still standing there, a tear sliding down her face.

“Santana, I--”

“Save it, Berry,” she says, and while the words are harsh, her tone isn’t. “I don’t...I don’t know why you stayed in the stall to listen, but you heard it all, and I’m just...not in the mood to talk.” Rachel nods, turning on the faucet and lathering her hands with soap. 

“I won’t say anything. But if you need a someone to talk to, I’m here. Even if we haven’t always gotten along, I have always considered you a friend,” Rachel says quietly. She grabs some paper towel, avoiding eye contact with Santana. 

As she walks out the door, she hears Santana utter a “thanks” that’s just barely audible.

+

And then there’s the dream. That night, Rachel wakes up hot and sweaty, her panties soaked through. She’d never had a...a _sex dream_ , and this one was...strange, to say the least. She sits up and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. She takes a few deep breaths and calms her heart rate down a bit, and then lays back, thinking of the dream. 

While on a date with Finn, he propositioned her for a threesome, and she said yes--she’s not sure why she said yes, but the word flows from her mouth easily, simply. Finn looked at her with an excited grin, while she sipped at a glass of wine, enthused herself. And then suddenly the scene shifted. 

Santana laid on her bed, completely nude, breasts bare, full. Her legs are crossed, and Rachel can’t see her core, but god, did she _want_ to. Rachel stared at the scene with Finn behind her, his erection pressing against her back. Santana smirked at her, fluttering her lashes, and slowly brought her hand up to pinch her right nipple, which hardened quickly. Soon, she moved on to the other, and Rachel could barely breathe, her heart pumping hard against her chest, and knees jelly at the sight. 

Without another thought, she stripped naked, throwing her dress to the floor, unclasping her bra and tossing it at Finn, who watched with lust filling his eyes. She looked at him, and then at Santana, whose lips begged to be kissed. She crawled on the bed, up to her mouth, and pressed her lips against hers, feeling their bare breasts touch, their puckered nipples grazing. And then--

That’s when she woke up. The dream replays itself in her mind, and she can’t stop herself from sliding her hand down, into her panties, brushing her fingers lightly against her clit. She thinks of Santana naked again, but this time, Santana slides her hand to cup her breast, to tease her. 

“God,” Rachel whispers to herself, and she imagines Santana sliding down her body and her wet tongue gliding over her clit. 

She circles her clit with her own hand, and then slides her fingers into her aching pussy, desperate for relief. She curls them, finding her g-spot, and cums with the image of Santana between her legs, lapping at her juices, embedded in her brain. 

This can’t be good. 

Though she falls asleep quickly after her orgasm (she can’t help it; masturbation is an energy-consuming sport), it isn’t without first wondering if things are different now. If she’s different now, or if these feelings were always there, hidden behind a layer of desire to conform to the stereotypical love stories she’s seen in Broadway musicals and Barbra Streisand movies.

+

Santana pulls her aside three days later at school. She’s by her locker, adjusting her bangs in the tiny magnetic mirror that hangs from the door, when she feels a tap on her shoulder. 

“Is there any chance, we can, like, talk, or something, Berry?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest protectively. She puts on an attitude, but by the look in Santana’s eyes, Rachel can tell that it’s just for show. 

“Yes, of course,” Rachel says with a small smile. “Let’s head to the choir room; it should be empty.” Santana nods, and Rachel leads the way. They’re silent, even when they sit down in the familiar maroon chairs. Eventually, Santana starts to talk.

“Look, I know we’re not close, and I know I was horrible to you for years, but you offered to help, and I kind of really need it,” she says, swallowing hard, not looking at Rachel. “I can’t go to Brittany, because even though she’s my best friend, she’s also my girlfriend, and she’s who I’m having issues with, and, well, Quinn and I have had an even worse relationship than you and I over the years, and...god, I just...” She starts crying, and Rachel realizes that this is the most vulnerable she has ever seen her. Rachel puts her hand on her knee and whispers. 

“It’s okay, Santana, I’m listening.” Santana looks up at her, wiping at her face, drying her eyes. 

“I...I just need a friend...” she says. “Things with Brittany are hard. We’re not kids anymore. I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t know how much longer I can pretend that her cat has human characteristics and I really don’t know if I have the heart to tell her that crayon is not an acceptable writing utensil when taking a test.” 

Rachel squeezes her knee, and Santana bites her lip. “And now I’m fucking divulging my sob story to a girl that I made fun of since we were six and you wore that stupid sweater with that fugly horse or whatever. What the fuck am I doing.” The last sentence isn’t a question, but more of a statement, and Rachel isn’t exactly sure of what to say. 

“I think...I think you need to do what’s in your heart,” Rachel says softly. She realizes she’s not only talking to Santana, but herself. It’s hypocritical, she thinks, because what your heart wants isn’t always that easy to figure out. 

“Thanks, Miley, but this isn’t a fucking fairy tale. My heart doesn’t know what the fuck it wants.” And there it was. 

“I know,” she mutters. “But it’s there, somewhere, and I think you have to take some time and dig down deep to find what it is.” She sighs. “And there’s no rush,” she says, repeating the lines Kurt told her. “Maybe you and Brittany won’t be together forever, but that doesn’t mean you have to break up with her now. Figure out if she’s who you want to spend the rest of your life with.” She smiles at her, and Santana nods. 

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I guess.” The room is quiet. “You know, you don’t look so pleased with Man Boobs, either,” she says after a while. Rachel blushes, and then shakes her head. 

“Yes, well, my heart doesn’t know what it wants, either,” she says, frowning. Santana wipes away her tears, and then looks at Rachel. 

“Do you want to talk about it? The least I can do is return the favor,” Santana says. “Even if your problem is that Finn’s a premature ejaculator with overly large nipples--and we both know that’s true.” Rachel scoffs, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks, and Santana nods, still sniffling. 

“Go ahead, Berry, I’m all yours.”

“How did you know you were...you know...a lesbian?” Rachel asks hesitantly. Santana looks at her, her brow furrowed, and she tilts her head slightly.

“Why does it matter? It is what it is,” she says simply. Rachel looks down at her hands, and then back up at Santana. “Sometimes there is no tangible answer.” 

Rachel can sort of understand that (even if she wishes Santana could have given her something more).

+

“Do you know what song you’re going to do?” Finn asks her one day, while they lay on her bed, her head resting against his chest. 

“Not yet,” she says. In all honesty, she didn’t even begin to look for a song that would represent her current struggles; she was too _involved_ in them to bother with finding one. “Do you have one?” she asks, turning to face him. He gives her a smile. 

“Yeah, but it’s a surprise,” he says with a wide smile. “It’s for you.” She smiles weakly, and fakes excitement. 

“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful,” she whispers. Feeling guilty, she lifts her head up and kisses him softly on the lips, and lets him cup her breast under her shirt. 

(In reality, she imagines it’s Santana doing the groping, and suddenly, she doesn’t feel so violated.)


	3. part two; changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes happen, none of which Rachel's too sure she's ready for.

When Santana and Brittany split, it’s a huge deal.  Rachel’s never seen the school in such disarray--cheerleaders crying, Glee members performing break-up songs at a number of candlelight vigils, and even Figgins admits to Santana that he’s prayed for her and Brittany to get back together.  It’s insane, and Rachel can’t help but let her jaw hang at the social chaos that this very personal and intimate event causes the entire school.  The blogger-sphere seems to be crushed, according to the pages Sam’s printed and passed around, and Rachel isn’t sure when the two girls became such a symbol for gay pride.  Her heart aches for Santana, who she sees dragging her feet to every class, but she doesn’t say anything.  Not yet.  She’s not sure what would mend her broken heart, or if there’s anything that could, really, and she doesn’t want to hurt her even more.  She knows Santana, and she knows she needs time to digest--that’s just her style.  So she leaves her alone.

(It does occur to her, however, that the two people who she could potentially make out with are currently single--but she berates herself for even thinking that, considering the heartbreak they’re going through.)

“I feel so bad,” Rachel says sullenly, watching Santana tear up a little at her locker before pulling herself together enough to go to Algebra II.  Kurt glances at Santana, and then back at Rachel.  He closes his own locker, scoffing, and Rachel raises an eyebrow at his clear contempt.  

“Don’t feel bad; she did this to herself,” Kurt says, hooking his arm with hers, sighing.  “She broke up with Brittany.  If you’re going to feel bad for anyone, feel bad for her.  Not Satan.”  Kurt casually fixes his coif.  “And really, why are they the gay icons for this school?  I’m gay, and I’m fabulous.  When I dressed like Lady Gaga, I was fierce.  How often do you see a boy in drag at a school in Bumblefuck, Ohio?”  Rachel sneers, though it’s not as if Kurt said anything unexpected.  Of course, Rachel thought, he’d be jealous of the attention--and for whatever reason, she’s not, for once in her life.  (She wonders if it’s because she’s trying to hide the fact that she’s questioning her own sexuality.)  

“Santana didn’t want to break up with Brittany; they were growing apart, Kurt,” Rachel says, coolly, and Kurt whips his head around so fast, she’s surprised he’s not suffering from whiplash.  He gives her a steely look, and she glares back at him.  

“Put your claws away, Wolverine,” he says, his eyes softening.  “God, what makes you so defensive?  Got a little crush?”  He smirks and she slaps his arm lightly, her face flushing with embarrassment.  

“Of course not!  We just had a little heart to heart and I understand where she’s coming from!” she says, her voice growing slightly pitchy as they stop in the middle of the hallway.  “You don’t!  You and Blaine act like you’re married, between the bowties and the cup of chamomile tea he brings to school for you every morning--you don’t get it.”  She lowers her voice and leans closer to him, her eyes widening.  “And if I break up with Finn, it’s because I know what it’s like to be in Santana’s shoes.”  Rachel swallows, her eyes a little teary, and she mumbles, “Not everyone can be Ellen and Portia, okay?”  Her voice cracks slightly, and he pulls her close, hugging her tightly.

“Oh, honey,” he breathes out, and even though he sounds a bit pompous and very gay when he says it, she relaxes into his arms and just cries.  It’s the tears that haven’t fallen before, because she wasn’t ready to let them, because she wasn’t ready to admit that her own break-up is practically impending.  Her heart hurts, for Santana, for Brittany, for Finn, for herself.  

She knows she’s an ugly crier, but in the moment, she doesn’t care.  She doesn’t care how ugly she looks, because she feels even uglier.  She thinks about how Finn made her this tofu stir fry the other night, how he wiped the sauce from her chin with his thumb, how he kissed the side of her mouth, and how innocent he was to the whole situation.  She thinks about how much he loves her, and how much she loves him, and she hates that they're just that couple that’s not meant to be, because they should be.  She should want what what he wants.  She shouldn’t be masturbating to half the girls in glee, having dirty fantasies about them, instead of him, but she is, and she knows they’re no longer meant to be--whatever she ends up deciding her sexuality is.  It kills her.  It kills her that she knows it’s going to end badly for them.  

When the bell rings, Kurt simply pulls her into the girls bathroom, and lets her keep crying.  And she doesn’t fight it, because let’s face it, she thinks, she needs it.  

****

+

****

Two weeks and four days later, she’s still with Finn (even after he sings What Makes You Beautiful for his Glee assignment) when she runs into Santana in the library during lunch.  Rachel heads there to find a book for her historical research paper, and she nearly trips on her own feet when she sees Santana sitting by herself in a corner, munching on a sandwich and staring off into space.  It’s so unlike her that Rachel stops and stares.  

“Wipe the drool off your chin, Berry--or do I have to get Finnzilla to lick it up?”  Rachel just barely hears Santana snip at her.  She closes her mouth, but doesn’t move.  “We both know he would,” Santana says, “‘cause he’s more whipped than the batter for that vegan cake he burned for your birthday last month.”  Santana smirks, and Rachel glares, stomping towards her.

“What happened to being nice to each other?” Rachel asks angrily.  Santana has the decency to look slightly embarrassed, if only for a moment, but she quickly recovers, glaring right back.  

“You know that’s just who I am, Judy,” she says, her voice low, filled with rage.  “I’m just an angry person--deal with it or get lost.  I’m sure your little puppy is waiting around the corner, begging for a treat.”  There’s an evil glint in Santana’s eye, and Rachel’s sure it’s just because she’s hurting.  She ignores her snark, and instead, drops the mad face.

“I’m sorry about what happened between you and Brittany,” Rachel mutters sincerely, her eyes sad.  She meets Santana’s tired gaze.  “It’s not fair, that you can love someone so much and at the same time, know it’s just not right for either of you to be together.  It’s the worst feeling in the world--I’m sure.”  Rachel clears her throat and pretends not to be so emotionally invested.  “I’m sure it sucks,” she mumbles.  She bites her bottom lip.  

Santana nods, but for the first time in her life, doesn’t say anything.  Rachel’s not sure there’s anything to say, in the end, because she and Brittany are over, and that’s it.  

When a tear slides from Santana’s cheek, Rachel thinks there’s something really beautiful about the way she cries.  It’s silent, intimate, even seductive.  It’s that tear that makes Rachel desperate to touch the girl’s face, to wipe it dry and make her feel better--but she’s sure that would just make things worse, so instead, she keeps her hands to herself and quietly empathizes.  

“It’s like I’ve had my heart ripped out,” Santana says eventually, and she sounds so vulnerable that Rachel scoots her chair closer and gives her a warm hug, not unlike the one Kurt gave her a couple of weeks ago.  “And I was the one to do it to myself,” Santana whispers, and Rachel pulls her closer, her hot breath near her ear making her skin tingle and her throat tighten.

“I know,” Rachel utters.  “I know.”  And the thing is, she really does.  

****

+

****

“We’re friends,” Santana says the next day, taking a seat next to her at lunch (Finn’s on her other side, though she wishes he’d go sit with Sam and Artie at the football table), “but I don’t know how that happened, and I don’t like it.”  Her words are blunt, almost harsh, and Rachel’s not sure if she’s pleased or hurt.

“Okay?” Rachel says, though it’s more of a question than a statement.  Finn wraps his arm around her shoulders, almost protectively, and Rachel fights an eyeroll.  

“I was eating in the library because Brittany’s sitting with the Cheerios--where we both used to sit--and I wasn’t about to eat alone, but now that we’re...I don’t know...Bosom Buddies, I figured I could pal around with you.”  It’s an honest statement, and Rachel can appreciate that, but Finn argues on her behalf.  

“I don’t want you taking advantage of Rachel like that,” Finn says, his eyes defensive.  “Just because she’s willing to be your friend doesn’t mean you can walk all over her.”  Santana raises her eyebrows, while Rachel pulls away from him, and whispers, “Stop.”  

The thing is, as far as Rachel is concerned, she knows Santana better than Finn does.  She knows she says what she means and she means what she says, but she also knows what went on between them in the library yesterday, and she knows that even though it’s backhanded and a little mean, Santana coming to her is an olive branch, a sign she actually wants to be friends, and Rachel’s not about to turn her away.  

“Why?” Finn asks, his face contorting to show his befuddlement.  “You deserve better than her.”  Santana looks hurt, and after the emotional rollercoaster she’s been on in the past few weeks, Rachel’s not going to let Finn stomp all over her when she’s finally found a friend who’s understanding.  

“Because I said so,” Rachel says, glaring at her boyfriend.  “She’s my friend.”  Her voice is final, and Finn scoffs, but finally shuts up, and that’s all Rachel wants.  She smiles at Santana, and even though Santana rolls her eyes and calls Finn “pussy-whipped,” there’s a certain smile beneath the smirk that she’s sure is reserved for her.  

****

+

****

After school, she decides she hates Santana.  She’s sure it’s her fault that Finn begs her to have sex; after all, calling him pussy-whipped when he hasn’t seen hers in months is kind of a reminder that he hasn’t been laid in a while.  

“Am I doing something wrong?” Finn asks quietly as they lay facing each other on her bed.  She shakes her head no, even though he’s asked her a hundred times before.  It’s not a new question, and it’s not a new answer--even though maybe her lies are starting to catch up to her.  She can’t keep saying no, and she can’t certainly can’t keep faking an orgasm--if Run, Joey, Run is any indication, it’s her singing that’ll get her on Broadway--not her acting.  Finn’s bound to see through it eventually.  She sighs.  “Then what is it?” he asks.  “There’s got to be a reason you want nothing to do with me.”  The hurt in his voice is so blatant that she cringes, feeling the guilt pool in her stomach.  

“I don’t know,” Rachel says, covering her face with her hands.  She curls into a ball, and he moves closer to her, wanting to comfort her.  She hates herself for doing this to him.  

“Rachel,” Finn starts, his voice soft, “just tell me the truth.”  He pulls her hands gently away from her face and it’s only then that she realizes she’s crying.  

“It’s not that easy,” she says breathlessly, staring him straight in the eyes.  He looks back at her, his own eyes filled with pain, and she has to tear her gaze away from them before she starts sobbing.  “I’ve made a mess of things,” she admits, looking at her hands and her comforter rather than at Finn.  “There’s--there’s a lot I haven’t told you, and you deserve so much more than that, Finn, you really do.”  Her words are rushed, and mumbled, and messy.  She’s all snotty, but she wipes her nose on her sleeve and ignores how disgusting she must look right now.  Her heart hurts for what she’s about to do, but she knows it’s what was coming all along.  

“What?” Finn asks and it’s so innocent that it nearly kills her.  She looks into his eyes and he’s almost hopeful, that she’s Rachel, his Rachel, and thinks can’t possibly be as bad as she thinks they are.  And it almost gives her hope that maybe they’re not, but everything she’s thought, everything she’s done, flashes before her eyes and she knows that keeping all of it from him--that’s what makes it so bad.  “Rachel, I’m sure--”

She doesn’t let him finish.  Instead, she covers his mouth with her tiny hand and whimpers, “Let me get it out.”  Her voice is small and she’s sure it sounds pathetic.  

She takes a deep breath, shuts her eyes, counts to ten.

****

+

****

Of course, they’re broken up.  She didn’t expect to stay together, and she’s not even sure if she would’ve wanted that.  But it doesn’t matter.  The minute she tells him she’s questioning, he’s shocked and hurt.  She knows he can’t do this, not with her unsure and not while she’s thinking about other girls.  She understands.  

But it doesn’t mean she doesn’t stay up all night crying.  She does, and she’s sure the tears have to stop eventually, but they don’t and she’s mad at herself, more than anything.  

She’s mad at herself for not letting Finn be enough.  She’s mad at herself for breaking his heart.  She’s mad at herself for breaking her own heart, because she’s the one who did this.  

She’s mad at herself for maybe liking girls.  

It’s the first time she’s willing to admit that, but it feels good, because she’s been trying to convince herself that it’s fine, that she’s fine, that being gay is okay, but she finally realizes:

She’s allowed to be upset about it.  She’s allowed to feel however the fuck she wants to feel.  

Before she realizes what she’s doing, she grabs her car keys and drives to Santana’s house.  Tears still cloud her eyes, and she’s only in a nightgown and a bathrobe, but quite frankly she doesn’t care.  She remembers where it is, even though she’s only been there once, for a Glee party last summer.  She’s there in seven minutes exactly, and even though she’s still bawling, she throws rocks at what she thinks is Santana’s window--never mind the fact that it’s one o’clock in the morning and she’s probably asleep.  

But Santana does come to the window, after a couple of minutes, and shouts, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, “What the actual fuck, crazy?”  When she wakes up, though, she sees the tears in Rachel’s eyes and ignores everything else.  She rushes down the stairs and drags her upstairs to her bedroom.

“I--Finn--we’re over...” Rachel mumbles out, sitting on the edge of Santana’s bed.  Her eyes are swollen red, and even though tears still fall, she’s no longer bawling. 

“I’m sorry, Rachel,” Santana says, pulling her into a hug.  Her arms are inviting, and Rachel hugs her tightly, as if she never wants to let go, and she’s not sure if it’s because she’s lonely, or because Santana’s being a good friend, but clasps her tightly and buries her face in the crook of her neck.  

And she smells nice, Rachel thinks.  On top of everything else tonight, she wishes that wasn’t on her mind.  

She cries harder again, thinking about Finn, about Santana, and whatever this hug means, and she can feel Santana’s fingers in her hair, and it feels good.  

She wonders if Santana’s grossed out by her tears on her bare shoulder--and that’s when she realizes Santana’s clad in just a tiny tank top and these tiny shorts, and she almost groans because the last thing she needs is to be attracted to a girl when she just wants to be able to feel shitty about being attracted to girls.  

Rachel pretends she doesn’t notice.  She just cries in her arms, and Santana lets her, for awhile.  

And Rachel brushes her cheek against Santana’s soft skin, and her mind goes blank when she picks her head up, pulls back just a tad, and presses her lips against hers.  

Rachel can feel her tears fall between their lips, and she’s not sure, but she thinks Santana might be crying now, too, but they don’t break apart right away.  Instead, Rachel places her hand delicately on Santana’s cheek and swipes her tongue across Santana’s bottom lip, begging for more.  

But Santana pulls away, as if she’s been burned, and Rachel opens her eyes, only to see Santana touching her lips with wide, wet eyes.  

Rachel’s own eyes widen, and she runs.  She runs out of Santana’s house as quickly as her short legs will carry her, and she prays she didn’t ruin a friendship she was so happy and so fortunate to have gained.  

It’s just another thing to add to the list of reasons why she hates herself.

****

+

****

When she returns home, she still can’t sleep.  She’s still upset about Finn, about what went down, about maybe liking girls, but more than that, she’s thinking about the kiss.  

The kiss that changed everything.

(Or maybe it changed nothing.  She knew before the kiss that girls were an option, really; why else would she get off to images of Quinn and Santana?)  

But maybe it’s that kiss that lets her admit it to herself.  

She can still feel Santana’s lips on hers; they were soft and plump and perfect, like two rose petals, and nothing like the rough, chapped, thin lips Finn kissed her with.  

It was different, but beautiful, and even though there were tears, it was perhaps the most sensual kiss she’s ever had.  

(She wonders if that’s sad, because is her most sensual kiss involved both parties crying, there was clearly something lacking with her relationship with Finn.)

She hates to think about tomorrow.  The awkwardness that will ensue, the conversation that needs to be had, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  

Maybe it won’t be that bad.

She covers her face with her pillow.  Maybe she can suffocate before she needs to be at school in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long time, but I hope you're willing to pick up the story where I left off!! I want to get back into writing this, so hopefully you're still interested. I'm really excited about where I'm going to take this and I just want to say thank you to any of you who read this after all this time. :)


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